Heavy
by ScarredNotBroken
Summary: The day his mother disappeared was the hardest day of his life, but he had refused to say goodbye, holding onto a sliver of hope that he'd see her again. Five years, however, doesn't make it any easier a thing to say.


**A/N:** So apparently I deal with death by writing angsty fics about death. (Three funerals in less than a month is little much for anyone, you feel me?) You're welcome.

 _Note:_ For all the Americans like me here, 19 degrees C is about 67 degrees F. Also, I'm placing Emilie's 'disappearance' around the time Adrien was 13, so he's about 18 here. Also, feel free to imagine that he kept his dad's estate post Hawkmoth being defeated, but honestly I think he'd sell the place and move elsewhere.

Disclaimer: I own the notebook the first draft of this is written in, but that's about it.

* * *

" _I'm holding on  
_ _Why is everything so heavy?  
_ _Holding on  
_ _To so much more than I can carry  
_ _I keep dragging around what's bringing me down  
_ _If I just let go, I'd be set free  
_ _Holding on  
_ _Why is everything so heavy?"  
_ _~Linkin Park: Heavy_

* * *

Even the weather was a cliché.

The gray skies provided a constant drizzle for three days straight, from the day the news had arrived until the day they laid her remains to rest, as if attempting to sympathize with him.

He was sure the preacher was saying the same, tired words he always did - "She was a wonderful wife and mother, and we will all miss her dearly," - but Adrien couldn't say he'd actually heard them spoken. No, his thoughts were stuck on the day the news had arrived.

" _She would have died instantly, we believe. She wouldn't have felt a thing."_

The words were supposed to comfort him, he knew, but they didn't. After finding out she'd lost her life five years ago, nothing would.

Had his father known? He didn't know and he didn't dare ask. Even if he asked, would Gabriel give him a truthful answer? He doubted it, and part of him didn't _want_ to know, anyway.

Five years. It had been five years to the day since she'd left. Only days later he'd been told there was a chance she was never coming home. He had refused to accept it. Even when his father, after being outed as Hawkmoth, had told him to let her go, he had refused to say goodbye.

He felt slender fingers grasp his shoulder, and he averted his gaze from the casket before him to the person beside him.

"Adrien? We should get you home. They want to lower her, but they won't until we leave. And it's supposed to start raining in earnest any minute."

He swallowed around the lump in his throat, and turned his eyes back to the casket. "I don't… I don't want to leave."

"I know," Marinette murmured. "I know." A soft sigh, and then: "I understand this is hard, and if you don't want company, just say the word. I'll text Alya, and no one will be there when we get in. I want to give you the time you need, but standing in the rain isn't going to change anything." A pause. "We can come back another day when the weather is better and bring flowers if you'd like. But, right now, I think this is doing you more harm than good."

He turned his head to face her, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were still damp, red-rimmed from shedding tears for woman she'd never met, while his own were still bone-dry. And he knew she was right. This wasn't helping him at all, to stand here, staring.

Stepping forward one last time, he placed his hands on the casket and bent over until his forehead was resting against the cold metal. He stayed for only a moment, strengthening his resolve, before straightening his back, turning around, and walking away.

He climbed into the passenger seat of his car, Marinette not far behind in getting into the driver's seat. (She wouldn't let him drive; of course not. "You shouldn't be worried about focusing on the road; I don't mind," she'd said. And, secretly, he was grateful she'd volunteered.) He stared at his hands as they pulled out of the cemetery, and he heard rather than saw when the windshield wipers kicked up to combat the rain as it began to fall more heavily.

But still he couldn't say goodbye.

* * *

The weather seemed to shift as readily as his moods.

One day it would be sunny and warm; the next, overcast and cool. In a word: completely unpredictable.

Marinette was true to her word, and kept everyone away when he didn't want company and brought a few people by when he did. He knew they were all worried, so he made the extra effort of having people around even when he wasn't sure he wanted them there. But, after a week, it was clear he had failed at assuaging his friends' minds when Nino showed up at his door, unannounced, on a day he'd asked Marinette to keep people away.

While it was true Nino never showed up without warning, the real kicker was what he'd brought with him: ice cream and frozen pizza and generally everything that had zero nutritional value. When Adrien had raised a quizzical eyebrow in question, Nino had simply shrugged and, characteristic grin in place, had responded, "Sometimes you just gotta stuff your face, bro."

Adrien would be the first to admit that he certainly hadn't been eating well for over a week at that point, and he was positive Marinette was at least partially behind this visit, but he also found he didn't quite mind as much as he thought he might. So he stepped aside and let his friend inside.

Nino shoved the ice cream into the freezer and two pizzas into the oven, and Adrien perched on the countertop and listened to his friend talk about nothing and everything until the timer went off. The pizzas and ice cream came out, and, before Adrien quite knew what had happened, he found himself camped out in a pillow fort in the the middle of the living room floor with _Iron Man_ playing on the flat screen.

"Ugh. I ate too much. I think I might be falling into a food coma," He groaned, rolling onto his back.

"What? No! This is just scratching the surface of everything I brought, dude!"

Adrien couldn't help the genuine smile that slipped onto his lips. "Maybe take a break at least? I seriously don't think I can eat anything else."

Nino huffed a mock-exasperated sigh and a "well, _I guess!,"_ before chuckling and turning back to the movie.

"My mom and I did something like this once." The words were out of his mouth before he'd thought about them. "I was doing some modelling before she disappeared, and even back then he generally wouldn't let me eat this kind of stuff. So, one night when Gabriel was away on a business trip, she brought up all the stuff I wasn't allowed to eat. We stayed up half the night watching Disney movies." His vision blurred as he lay staring at the ceiling, the movie all but forgotten. He wasn't sure why he was bringing all of this up now, but he couldn't seem to stop. "She was super protective, too, you know? Like, more than Gabriel, honestly. But, when he wasn't home, she'd still take me all over Paris. I wanted to learn to play piano because of her. She would play all the time." He hadn't realized his tears had broken free until his voice cracked, pulling him back to reality.

Reality and his empty house and Nino sitting quietly beside him.

"I'm sorry," he stuttered, trying desperately to calm his ragged breathing and stop the tears.

Nino gave a small huff. "Sorry for what, bro? You're the only one of us who actually knew your mom, and you're the only one who hasn't cried since the news came. You, more than anyone else, have the right to cry."

He gave up trying to stop. Rolling onto his side, he curled into a ball and let out all of his pent-up anger and frustration and sorrow. And when the tears were spent, Nino was still there, a sympathetic smile turning up the corners of his lips, with a box of tissues and a roll of cookie dough.

"You know," Adrien sniffed, pushing himself back into a seated position, "you aren't supposed to eat that stuff raw."

Nino rolled his eyes. "I've been eating raw cookie dough for, like, fifteen years. I will stop doing so the day I actually get salmonella from it." Taking out his knife, he cracked open the plastic, cut off a chunk, and held it out to Adrien with a conspiratorial grin. "You know you want it."

Adrien gave a lopsided grin. "Well… what could one time hurt?"

Cutting himself a chunk, Nino turned back to the movie. After a moment, he murmured, "You know, it's okay to mourn for those you've lost."

Adrien stared down at the chunk of dough, rolling it between his fingertips, and wondered if that was true.

Did he really have that right when he couldn't bring himself to say goodbye?

* * *

For once, the weather contradicted his mood.

The sun was out, every cloud had fled, and his phone kindly informed him it was a pleasant 19 degrees Celsius outside.

He had closed the blinds and resolved not to answer the door for anyone. Marinette had a key, it was true, but he knew she wouldn't let herself in unless he didn't answer her texts. It had been two weeks now, and they were all well aware he wasn't doing a particularly good job of taking care of himself and were rightfully worried because of that, so the least he could do to avoid incident was to reply to her messages, assuring her that, yes, he had eaten to today, et cetera. (The one time he hadn't replied, he'd left his phone in the bedroom and gone to make something to eat. The next thing he knew, a panicked Marinette was crashing through his front door, and he resolved to make sure he always answered her after that.)

He knew he needed to move on. She'd been gone for five years, and his father's horrendous plan had backfired, and _he needed to move on._ But he couldn't seem to do so all the same. After five years of holding on, he couldn't give up now. He couldn't stop thinking about her, and moving on seemed like...betrayal.

"It's not, you know," Plagg had said when Adrien finally admitted such. "I've been around for more than five millenia; do you think it was betrayal for me to move on to another Chat when the previous Chat's time was up?"

"It's not the same thing."

"Why's that?"

"Because that's the whole reason you exist, to give powers to people."

"That may be true, but that doesn't mean I didn't care about each and every one of them." Plagg paused. "I remember them all, you know. I've never forgotten. Moving on isn't the same as forgetting, Adrien."

Adrien was silent for a moment before murmuring, "But you didn't spend five years hoping any of them were still alive. I've been holding on for so long, Plagg…"

"Which is all the more reason to let go. I know it's just another cliché to say, but in all seriousness, _is this_ what she would want? For you to continue to put your life on hold even after you knew the truth?" He paused before adding quietly, barely audibly, "You aren't your father, Adrien. Don't let this consume you. It's time to say goodbye."

Adrien closed his eyes against the tears, unable to speak through the tightness in his throat. He didn't want to admit it, but Plagg had a point. He couldn't throw his life away like Gabriel had. _He wouldn't._

Pushing his emotions back, he rolled to his feet, pulled on a clean shirt, and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?"

He could hear the smile in his kwami's voice - Plagg already knew, the smart-alec - but he answered anyway. "Where do you think?"

"Don't forget to stop by the florist's on the way."

They weren't in season, but somehow he still managed to get the flowers he wanted, his mom's favorite. It must be a sign, he though. He could do this.

Or, at least, he thought so until he pulled up the cemetery drive and parked along the path. Then, suddenly, he wasn't quite so certain. He pulled out his phone and stared at the screen. He knew if he asked, Marinette or Nino would be there in a heartbeat. Sighing, he leaned his head back against the headrest. No. He needed to do this part alone. When he got home, he could text them and ask them to come over, but not now.

Taking a deep breath, he grabbed the dahlias from the passenger seat and stepped out of his car. The sun was far too bright, he thought as he slowly made his way over to where she was buried. It should be raining, right? It always rained in the movies during moments like this...

The headstone was simple, just her name and the correct dates of birth and death. She would have wanted it this way, but it still didn't feel right. She had been so much more than a name and a date.

The last day he'd seen her alive flashed in his mind.

" _We'll only be gone a week, sweetie. Behave while we're gone. I love you."_

A quick hug and a kiss planted on the top of his head. He hadn't said anything in return. They had only just gotten back, and he hadn't wanted her to leave again - especially not after only two days home. He couldn't remember exactly what his last words to her had been, but he knew they hadn't been kind. They'd argued the night before she'd left, and he had stormed out to his room. He'd been angry, and so he hadn't said a word when she'd turned to leave.

Not a day had gone by that he hadn't deeply regretted it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, falling to his knees, flowers still clutched in his hand. His voice caught in his throat as the tears broke free, all the things he wanted to say falling dead on his tongue. He reached out a hand, fingers brushing against cold stone. _I'm sorry_ and _I love you too_ and _please don't go_ mercilessly circled his thoughts, punctuated with _I hate this_ and _I needed you here_ and _why did you have to leave._

But the only thing he could get out were half-strangled sobs.

In the end, he didn't say any of the things he had wanted to say; in the end, he said nothing at all.

When the tears had passed, he silently wiped the tracks away with the palm of his hand, and finally laid the bouquet at the base of the headstone. He didn't know how long he sat in silence after that, but when he finally made to stand, the sun was setting in the west, and his muscles were stiff from staying so long in the same position.

He stood in silence for a moment longer before taking a deep breath and saying the one thing he absolutely could not leave without saying.

"I love you, Mom. I'll see you again someday, but, for now, I guess this is goodbye."

Taking another deep breath, he turned to walk back to his car. If he were being honest with himself, he certainly didn't feel any better. He was supposed to, right? But he didn't.

He picked up his phone from where he'd left it on the dash as he climbed back into the driver's seat. Checking his messages, he found he'd missed three from Marinette, one from Nino, and even one from Alya. He couldn't help but smile a little at the thought: Marinette had probably already stormed his house by this point. He should probably call her.

Just as he was about to dial, a new message came in. _Please answer me,_ it said. _We're all worried sick._

Oops. He should _definitely_ call her.

She picked up on the first ring, worry coating her voice. "Where are you? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm on my way home."

A pause. "Have you been at the cemetery this whole time?"

Well, that confirmed it: Plagg was the only one who knew where he was, so they all must be waiting for him at his house. "Yes."

Another pause in which he could hear an indistinct murmur of voices. A soft sigh, and then, "Are you sure you're all right?"

He paused, contemplating the question, his gaze wandering to where the last of the sunlight filtered through the trees. The light was warm, casting everything it touched into a red and orange glow.

" _There's always tomorrow,"_ her voice whispered in his head. _"Pain doesn't last forever. See? The sun has to set for now, but it has to come back up eventually. And when it does, well… There are still so many good things to come."_

"Adrien?" Marinette's voice cut through his thoughts, and he smiled as he slipped the key into the ignition. He wasn't alone; after all, there were three people and a kwami waiting for him at home. Maybe he wasn't alright today, and he probably wouldn't be tomorrow either, but someday he would be.

"I will be," he finally replied. And, for the first time, he meant it.


End file.
